


a web that you have wove

by smithens



Series: a web that you have wove [1]
Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, During Canon, Humor, M/M, Romance, Suspense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-26
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:41:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27724988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smithens/pseuds/smithens
Summary: Mr Ellis is handsome, witty, and more charming than anybody Thomas can remember having met in his life.But there's something else about him that he just can't put his finger on.
Relationships: Thomas Barrow/Richard Ellis
Series: a web that you have wove [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2044741
Comments: 22
Kudos: 67





	1. Monday

**Author's Note:**

> > There's a silence in the woods after it snows  
> That's the vibe now of the piece inside my soul  
> Like a spider, there's a web that you have wove  
> There's a heart now where there used to be a ghost
>> 
>> And oh yeah it's making me uneasy
>> 
>> Now I hear sounds in the hallway  
> Rocking chairs are moving on their own  
> I'm falling for you  
> So much so that it's freaking me out
> 
> — Ava Max, "Freaking Me Out" 

"...but yeah, we've got practices you'll not be accustomed to," Ellis was saying as they went up the stairs. Thomas was caught between hanging on every word he said with bated breath and... well. Paying him no attention, because it took concentration to actually listen to what he was saying, when his voice was so nice on its own. "The Royal Household runs on tradition, Mr Barrow, but some of 'em go back further than you can remember."

It had been _far_ too long since he'd interacted with a man his own age; that was it and he knew it. Ellis had been at Downton for what, an hour? If that. No need to lose his head.

"Isn't all service like that?"

"No."

Smarmy.

From two steps above Thomas turned round to find him grinning up at him.

His breath caught.

He realised that he may have been joking the entire time—looking at him, though, even if it _hadn't_ been joking, it seemed reasonable, that they'd do things differently. Taking over the running of the bloody household was different all on its own, wasn't it? But he was talking like there was more to it than that. What could possibly be so different about how they ran things that it'd be worth talking about? If anything they just reminded Thomas of the old days, back when the Crawleys had money and every house party was accompanied with an army of servants... back when just four footmen coming along with a handful of guests would have seemed an insult to the host, instead of being ridiculous. Because who needed that many extra when they already had some here?

Then, they weren't extra, were they. They were taking over. _That_ was the part that seemed strange, but what could any of them do about it? This was royalty they were talking about, they could do whatever they liked and complaining wouldn't do a thing.

"The point is," said Ellis, with his chin tilted up and his eyebrows raised, not _quite_ as stuck up as Lawton had looked but very close (although it was _different_ when he did it; it had Thomas's heart falling into his stomach and his palms tingly), "you may see or hear some things you don't understand..."

He was already seeing things he didn't understand—namely the fact that this was a very handsome man who was very eager to speak to him.

Then, maybe that could be explained by him having _just arrived an hour ago_.

Nobody'd had time to warn him about the butler yet.

"...If you or any of your staff have got questions, you'd best send them to me."

Thomas blinked. "What, that's it?"

The way he'd started the conversation Thomas had been expecting… well, he didn't know, really. A demand he make some sort of oath never to speak of the visit with anybody outside of Downton, or something.

"That's it."

Ellis was still grinning, a sparkle in his eye.

For some reason _that_ was what made everything he'd just said make sense.


	2. Tuesday

"You never said you'd disrespected the principals."

"Sorry?"

"This morning," Ellis said. He pulled out the exact same chair as he'd sat in before to sit, but this time he angled it toward him. With the chair in between it didn't make much difference but it was thrilling even so, that he wanted to pay him especial attention. They were still the only two in the servants' hall. Ellis was going to think he'd never left. "You left out a few bits."

With him talking like that it was much easier than before not to act smitten. Thomas knew exactly what he was on about but had no idea what he was getting at.

"I overheard," added Ellis, a quirk at the corners of his mouth. He wasn't very good about keeping a straight face—his eyes gave away that he was holding back a grin. "You've got some panache, Mr Barrow, I don't mind telling you."

The second he looked him in the eyes Thomas forgot what he had been meaning to say: it was annoying at best how charming this man could be even when he was saying things that should have had Thomas snapping back in an instant. That with anyone else would have. He ended up making up the words that came out of his mouth as he said them, which had never gone very well for him before: "do you go round eavesdropping at every house you visit?"

Ellis raised up his head; his eyes went down to Thomas's book and then back up, slowly. Til they were making eye contact again. "If things catch my ears."

_Would he be looking at me that way, if he were normal?_

Every time he smiled at him it sent his heart aflutter and all the thoughts in his head off at sprint—he was smitten already and he knew it, even though he was doing his very best not to show him that. But eventually he was going to do something daft, he wanted to impress him so badly. That never ended well, in his experience. He'd only known him a day—not even that—and he still felt that if he asked him to jump he'd do it first and then ask if he meant higher.

It was taking a lot of self-restraint not to throw himself at him.

Thomas thumbed at the edge of his bookcover and told himself that this was a perfectly ordinary way of flirting with somebody when you had absolutely no clue of whether or not he was worth flirting with in the first place. "Just seems unbecoming to me, for a royal valet...if I'd known you were going to go off and gossip about it I don't know that I'd have told you."

"Comes with the job description, I'm afraid," he returned, smiling again. So he could tell. Good. "I've got to keep my eye on the residents, take care to smooth things over."

_Good? You don't even know if he's like you, you dolt, just because he's a good conversationalist doesn't mean he's interested…_

In men _or_ in Thomas.

It was entirely possible he'd be the former but not the latter, after all.

Besides, he should've been much more wary than he was. What he'd said didn't seem an excuse to listen in on private conversations—not that he cared if he were snooping around so he could hear Mr Carson, but he _did_ care if that meant he was going to listen in on _him._

"...what do you think we're going to do, reenact the gunpowder plot?"

Ellis bit his bottom lip.

Definitely shit at keeping a straight face.

"Will you?" he asked. His eyes were too captivating for words.

" _They_ might," Thomas said, with a jerk of his head toward the corridor, where everybody was bustling about getting ready for luncheon. "I don't think I'll have the chance, myself, being demoted and all."

"All the more reason to fly the coop with me, in my book."

He was insistent, that was for certain… Thomas ought to have minded that he had made such a game of asking about it, and he would have, if he didn't want to go with him so very badly.

There was just something going on that made him feel as if he shouldn't be saying _yes_.


	3. Wednesday

"...I don't suppose it would be a problem if we were expecting a visit from Queen Victoria," Miss Baxter quipped. 

Ellis laughed. "You may as well be, in some respects," he said. "We don't do much different, aside from running water, which _is_ terribly important, I'm afraid…"

"And electricity," added a footman.

"Motorcars," said one of the housemaids, and the other contributed, "telephones."

A second footman: "The wireless."

A third: "The railway."

"Queen Victoria had the railway," Daisy interjected, sounding affronted, like it was a personal offense than some footman didn't know when the steam engine came along or something. 'Course, it was an egregious mistake, but the Royal Household seemed prone to those. They may've been the best at the best at their jobs (or just lucky and related to the right people) but some of them seemed a bit slow on the uptake, in his opinion. "Didn't they put it in just before?"

"Right you are, Mrs Mason," Ellis told her cheerfully.

She narrowed her eyes at him, though as soon as he grinned at her the sour expression faded away. Naturally Andy was furious about that, but he'd been testy all week, really. At some point he'd just have to accept that she wasn't ever going to set a bloody date and call the whole thing off.

The footman who had spoken huffed. "The _point_ is–"

"Their Majesties like _consistent_ service," Miss Lawton finished, sneering.

"Well, we've got to keep standards up, haven't we," Ellis went on. Unlike her, with a broad smile on his face. "Though I'll admit it winds up we're a bit behind the rest of the world, in the Royal Household..." He paused, took a sip of his (black, Thomas had put to memory, though it seemed like the whole of the Royal Household took it that way for some reason) coffee… and then looked ( _smiled_ ) right at Thomas. 

At which point his breath got stuck in his lungs and all thoughts left his head except for the sensation that it'd been just three days and he was already head over his fucking heels and it had done away with all of his bloody sense, after two whole days he'd finally cracked and how could he not with Ellis trailing him around like some kind of puppy dog and then giving him so many _looks_ , and surely everybody at the dining table could see his feelings all over his face and making a fool of himself in caring and if they couldn't tell then he desperately needed to cut it out so that they _wouldn't find out_ — 

"...in some respects, at least." 

And then he went back to his supper, and Thomas managed, somehow, to gasp for air without anybody taking notice.

Maybe Andy had a point, if Daisy felt at all like _this._

* * *

"...it's silly, really, but I was reminded of it because–have you noticed anything… _odd,_ about Miss Lawton?"

Anna had apparently been making a study of her all week. It was getting to be old. 

Though Thomas was mildly concerned that she now seemed to think there was a connection between her and… whatever it was she'd just been on about. Some sort of fairy tale magic he'd never heard of before. Maybe it was a Yorkshire thing.

"Aside from thinking that being a _Royal servant_ means she's got the right to walk all over us?"

"Oh, give it a rest, Daisy!"

"I'm sure I imagined it," Anna went on, "don't mind me."

But she was frowning.

Nobody except Bates was paying her much attention anymore, because Daisy and Andy were going at it again for the fifth time this week and Miss Baxter seemed to be figuring out how to step in without getting caught in the crossfire… Bates took Johnnie from Anna's arms as she put on her coat (Thomas half worried everybody living in the cottages would drown, the way it was pouring), and whispered something in her ear that made her shake her head and smile. Thomas trusted him to take care of it—there were just two things he trusted Bates to keep his eye on, and those were his wife and Lord Grantham. Whether he was a very good husband for doing it the particular way he did, well, that was another question entirely.

They were all congregating at the backdoor for reasons Thomas wasn't sure of. It was the first time in the whole day the Downton staff had been together without anybody from Buckingham Palace poking around nearby—they were all upstairs, to his knowledge. Some of them had even gone to bed. What kind of servant was done with their day by nine o'clock? 

Unfortunately it meant that none of them were on their best behavior. If nothing else the lovebirds knew not to air out their dirty washing in front of very important guests… If Thomas had any friends he'd be placing wagers on the chances of that wedding ever actually happening. Given he didn't he just went back on forth on it with himself. The political thing might be the nail in the coffin, though. He'd not pegged Andy as a Royalist, but then, when had he had the chance? The two of them weren't exactly close anymore. Plenty of servants had those thoughts, he supposed. Still, the man's life dream was to be a farmer in Yorkshire; it didn't make very much sense.

Even after a year and a half, Thomas wasn't really close with any of his staff—more with Daisy than he'd ever been before, with all the letters they'd sent back and forth when he was at the Stiles's, and of course Baxter saw him as the younger brother she'd never had and he didn't mind that nearly as much as he had before, but…

"Are you suggesting that the lady's maid to the _Queen_ is engaging in _witchcraft?_ "

 _That_ shut Daisy up.

He'd come from nowhere, Mrs Hughes trailing behind him, rolling her eyes. Anna laughed. "Don't be silly, Mr Carson."

Thomas had apparently missed the only interesting bit of that conversation, then.

"Then what _are_ you suggesting?"

Her smiled faltered. She looked at Bates, then Johnnie, whose hair she petted at, though it was already pristine. For a toddler, at least. 

"We're exaggerating, Mr Carson," Bates said. "It was just a little joke."

Carson harrumphed, starting off about how he _understood_ but it was unwise to _joke_ _at the expense of the Royal staff._ For crying out loud. God, Thomas had forgot just how bad it'd been with him as butler. He may not have been in service for half a century, himself, but at least he let people fool around when the work was finished.

Though by the look on Anna's face it was less of _a little joke_ than Bates was saying, but that was a problem for them to sort out, not him.

"–aha, Mr Barrow, there you are!"

The voice alone was enough to do him in; when he turned round the rest of it got him for sure… he was the same as he'd been all week except his tie was ruffled. Thomas wanted to reach out and fix it and he almost _did_ before remembering that he was in front of everybody and he did not, in fact, know this man well enough to be _tidying up his clothes_. 

Perfect.

Miss Baxter pressed her lips together and raised her eyebrows. Him glaring only turned it into a smile.

Thankfully she seemed to be the only one who'd noticed. The rest were pretending that either the ceiling, the floor or the back door were the most interesting things they'd ever seen, because that was the appropriate thing to do when both _a man wants to speak with Mr Barrow_ and _the lady's maid is going mental._

Going mental about a colleague of the man in question, at that.

That would teach them to gossip.

Mr Ellis seemed as oblivious as the rest, though Thomas had his doubts.

"Yes?" he asked.

"Thought I'd ask for your assistance, didn't want to bother Mr Carson—figured he'd have better things to do at this hour than give me directions." 

Thomas couldn't tell if that was meant to be implying something or not but he didn't actually care. 

"Could you show me again to that ancillary dressing room?"

"Certainly I can."

So he did. 

Once upstairs Ellis poked around in a few things but seemed to have no actual tasks at hand. Thomas kept wondering if maybe he'd made this whole thing up as an excuse to spend some time with him and then had to scold himself.

Wishful thinking.

Except after that he and Ellis spent all the evening talking, sitting in Thomas's bedroom with the door just ajar, rain hammering the window.

"...unfortunately it's not unusual, getting off on the wrong foot. 'Swhat happens when we trod on so many toes."

Funny for him to say that when he seemed to be taking great care to get into everybody's good graces, not that it took much. It didn't take anything, really. Even if he'd been rude and pompous like the rest Thomas had the feeling he would still be interested. The man was just that compelling. 

He still hadn't got over what had happened at supper, in fact.

"Well, you're the only one they like," Thomas said bluntly. "Mrs Patmore can't stand anybody in the kitchen, though I suppose that's usual when you get anybody else in there that's not her, same with Daisy, Anna's convinced herself Miss Lawton's some kind of witch, and to be honest with you if Mrs Hughes _doesn't_ rip Mrs Webb's throat out I'll be surpr–"

"Sorry," Ellis interrupted, "what did you say about Mrs Bates just now?"

He still insisted on calling everybody by their proper name.

"It's not like her," Thomas assured him. Having loony staff members was unlikely to reflect well on him. "She's got a baby boy and she's on her feet all day and that's not getting into having you lot here, you can't blame her for seeing things at this point–"

"Seeing things," he repeated, eyebrows raised.

 _Why did you tell him this,_ Thomas thought, kicking himself. Hadn't he been saying all week that his aim was to keep them all in line? Of course he'd want to go over it with a fine tooth comb. "It's daft, forget I said anything."

"No, I'd like to know!" 

A moment ago he'd been almost harsh, or as close as he'd got since Thomas had met him; now he just seemed to find it terribly amusing. Which it was, of course. Just maybe not if it was at Anna's expense.

Thomas shifted in his chair, uncomfortable, then realised he was doing it and stopped. "Well, it was Mr Carson who suggested it."

Sort of.

If he was going to make anybody look bad in front of a royal valet he'd prefer it be Carson. He believed what he'd said, about Anna. Who wouldn't be exhausted in her place?

"I'd love to hear more about that."

"Er…"

"I'll keep it between us," said Ellis smoothly.

Of course he would; Thomas knew that instinctively. He was a safe sort of person to tell things. He didn't know when he'd decided that about him but he had. 

With one exception. Unless he asked outright (Thomas didn't want to think about that) he was keeping _that_ piece of himself locked up tight. No need to ruin things. He was only going to be around for another day or so, after all.

Still, what was the harm in playing hard to get? 

"Will you, though?" Thomas asked.

"Cross my heart," he said, smiling again, a little lopsided, and then he was cajoling: "come on, Mr Barrow, I'm terribly interested."

And if he hadn't already made his mind up that would have done it for him. Thomas spilled all of it and probably more than Ellis cared to know, just about everything the staff had been doing and saying since their arrival, though he listened attentively the whole time and nodded along and all of it. It was a bit embarrassing, really, how eager Thomas was to impress him. This was a shit way of going about it, too, talking about things to do with the house instead of things to do with him.

Eventually he ran out of things to say from the week itself, and so he trailed off, and...

"Well, that's not too out of the ordinary for us," Ellis told him. "People lose their wits when the Royal Household comes to stay..." He grinned. Thomas thought his heart might leap out of his chest. "That was hilarious, though, about Lawton. Poor Mrs Bates."

"Yes," Thomas replied, feeling suddenly very awkward. "Well."

"Probably just a bit of legerdemain," Ellis told him. He leaned back again in his chair—he'd been leaning forward, Thomas realised, and then he realised that _he himself_ had been leaning forward, and much more obviously. If for whatever reason he'd fallen out of his chair he'd have landed in the man's lap. "The eye plays more tricks than people do… by the way, you never finished telling me that story about Brancaster, earlier."

Speaking of tricks.

He'd not finished because he knew it would probably reflect badly on him.

"Well, I've got to keep some secrets, haven't I."

Ellis laughed, Thomas felt more proud of himself than he had in ages for no logical reason, and then they just continued like that for the rest of the night. They got on well, the two of them. It was easy to think maybe they'd _keep_ getting on well, and in particular ways, too. 

But he'd misread things before, and there was no telling if he was misreading them again, not yet. So he made jokes more than he made eyes, and Ellis kept him on his toes, and for the most part he didn't lose his head again like he'd done several times over the week…

Not til he'd left, at least, because after he said goodnight he smiled that bloody fucking smile again and it was like a blow to the head, if such a thing could ever be pleasant, and then he pulled the door closed after him and the whole night long that face was the only thing Thomas could think of.


	4. Thursday (I)

The day of the royal visit finally came.

Predictably, downstairs was a nightmare.

* * *

"And they've still got a _bellboard_! What year is it, again?"

"Miss Smith! Where have you been?"

"Out of my way, the Major's in a state–"

"At least there's a wireless..."

"But have we _really_ got to _eat_ with them?"

"I've been all over the luggage room and I can't find it!"

"There hasn't been hot water since I've been here, you know."

"Did you ask Miss Lawton?"

"I was stuck outside, I couldn't find anyone to invite me in–"

"Mr Miller!"

With so many more people in the house there were plenty of opportunities to eavesdrop, and Thomas found himself taking them as they came… especially where _Mr Ellis_ was concerned. And why shouldn't he, when the man had made such a point of him doing so himself?

It was only fair, really, that he followed them through to the men's servants' stairs.

He waited a bit, first, of course. He wasn't an amateur. By the time he'd slipped through the green baize door they were at least a flight above him, which boded well as far as getting caught was concerned. 

"...I'm not a _footman,_ " Ellis was saying. Whinging, really. But it was endearing somehow. 

"And yet you insist upon behaving like one." 

In fact they were either on the landing just above or speaking very loudly, but Thomas wasn't prone to try and check… he had a perfect spot to stay hidden, really, so long as they didn't keep walking.

Seeing as he couldn't hear footsteps he figured he must've been safe, at least for the time being.

"Come on, it's just drinks," wheedled Ellis. 

"I'm invulnerable to your charms," Miller replied, utterly dispassionate. He then repeated, " _just drinks,_ " mockingly. Even from a storey below and with no line of sight to speak of Thomas could tell he was sneering. Everybody in the royal entourage seemed to have perfected that face—and probably Ellis had, too, though he hadn't seen him deploy it and frankly hoped he wouldn't have to, seeing as it was unlikely to make him feel very nice. "Is that what they call it nowadays?"

"Just the normal sort, none of the rest of it."

Surprisingly he didn't sound as if he felt belittled at all, only tired.

"I should hardly describe your cavorting with another man as _normal,_ Ellis."

Hearing _that word_ said _like that_ made Thomas's stomach flip over, and he couldn't tell if in a good or bad way.

"Well, you've got me there."

While _Miller_ hadn't spoken as though he thought very highly of _cavorting with men_ , by that tone of voice Ellis would have… so, in a good way. Very much in a good way. Because he'd guessed already and this was only confirming it, surely, 'cause whatever else that could possibly mean beat him. Surely this was as much proof as he was going to get. Straight from the horse's mouth, practically.

But none of it mattered if nothing ended up happening because the man hadn't actually bothered to get permission before asking him to go out.

Which was what he was beginning to suspect.

Ellis went on, "it's one night, Mr Miller, for Chrissakes, what can it hurt?"

"Do you think me a fool?"

"We're in the third quarter," footsteps again, from both of them— going up. He hoped. "I don't see what could go wrong."

"Unlike some, Ellis, you are not gifted with foresight, and–"

"Neither are you, I'd add."

"Do _not_ interrupt me." 

Silence.

Thomas took a step down—the door to the bachelor's wing was just there, so if he _had_ to…

"...yes, sire."

Well, that was weird.

"Have you no _gratitude_ for the lengths I have gone that you may retain this position?"

"No, sire, I'm very grateful." 

"If it weren't for me you'd be nothing."

"I understand."

"I never thought you worthy of the status before, Ellis, and in nine years you've done _very_ little to convince me otherwise."

And here Thomas had gone seventeen years thinking there must be nobody worse to work under than Mr Carson.

"You're very lucky His Majesty likes you."

"I respect that, sire."

"Until that changes I mustn't complain."

And then nothing.

And then more nothing.

And then footsteps, only this time he couldn't be sure they weren't headed down—Thomas made for the door after all. 

He put his hand on the knob.

He turned it.

Then the footsteps stopped.

"...you see, it's not just about Barrow, though I'll grant you you're right about my motivations where he's concerned."

_Or not._

"I'm looking in on my mum," Ellis continued, quiet enough by now Thomas had to strain to hear. Which was probably a sign he ought to quit it and go get on with whatever it was he'd been planning on doing before he decided to be nosy, which now escaped him, but he was going to ignore it til it got to be too late. Just because he'd thought it already had didn't mean he'd passed the point of making it out unnoticed. "She'll not be alive forever."

"Yes, well, nobody will."

Hearing that, him all soft and sympathetic, Thomas would never have believed the man was capable of such vitriol as he just heard.

"Alive's the important bit, there."

"I understand you."

"Yeah."

They started walking again… Thomas opened the door, then, thankful more than he'd ever been before that these things were built to be silent.

But just after he'd stepped through, and just before he'd pulled it shut:

"Very well, Ellis, but if you put a single toe out of line…"

"I know."

"Yes, you ought to by now."

"Thanks."

"Don't make me regret it."

"I won't, sire."

And that, so far as Thomas was concerned, was the end of it. He did his best to put it out of his mind, because nothing about what he'd overheard did anything to rid him of the feeling that he was making a mistake, going with him. The more he thought about it, the less sense it made. To the point he wondered if maybe he'd dreamt it—he _had_ been dreaming about Ellis, after all, every night since the first. In ways that were unbefitting, to say the least. 

Only the conversation didn't exactly fit the pattern.

 _You may see or hear things you don't understand,_ he remembered Ellis as saying, but what was he going to do, waltz up to him and ask him why he referred to his immediate superior as though he were the king himself? 

_What a funny question, Mr Barrow,_ he might reply, _I thought you weren't fond of eavesdropping._

Then he'd laugh and Thomas's heart would start doing somersaults and he'd forget both that he'd asked a question and the fact that any other man existed on the face of the earth. Judging by how the rest of the week had gone.

When his last chance to back out came around, though, he ended up going anyway.

* * *

After two hours of waiting he figured _the mistake_ was going after a man who very clearly had, at best, more to do in one night than there was enough time for, and at worst—well, he didn't want to think about at worst, really.

But his heart knew it even if his head tried not to, so when somebody else came along...

In retrospect, by the end of the night, the only thing he _really_ ought to have been worried about was his own foolishness.


	5. Thursday (II)

"I hope the rest of them will get off easy."

They had stopped just outside the city walls what felt like ages ago, but it was the first thing either of them had said since then.

Thomas had been too busy trying to remember how to breathe, and once he'd figured that out, wondering if there were any way to put words back into his own mouth.

 _A silly boy._

Why he had said such a thing escaped him.

The fact that he had made it true, probably.

Ellis had only seemed amused, and he hadn't stopped doing so til now. Now, he was grave, pensive. And with good reason.

"How likely is that?" Thomas asked after a moment.

"I don't know," answered Ellis. He wouldn't look at him anymore—was staring out the window, eyes elsewhere, drumming his fingers in a pattern on his thigh. "But I can be very persuasive, Mr Barrow."

Which Thomas knew very well by now, though he figured there had to be a limit to what even he could do, Royal Household or not. It was easy to believe the calling card would've worked to get one bloke out, but much more than that and surely the story would stop holding up. 

After a point, at least. 

Besides, there had to be some way of checking on those things… and hadn't Ellis promised at least one person that he wouldn't be getting into any trouble that evening?

"I gave the sergeant an idea, so I can only hope it takes."

Optimistic at best, deluded at worst.

"Can you really?" Thomas asked, not bothering to hide the sarcasm this time.

"I can be very persuasive," he repeated, in precisely the same tone as the first time.

When he finally turned back to look Thomas in the eye, though, he was smiling again.

And maybe this wasn't the sort of subject to be coy about, but very suddenly, very surprisingly, he found he didn't want to be sharp anymore… 

"Can you persuade _me_?"

It was only then that Thomas realised he'd moved closer, even as Ellis had been still, and that they were near enough now to kiss.

* * *

It wasn't _just_ a kiss, either. It was their first time kissing, their first time being as close as this, their second time touching at all, and Thomas found himself melting into him, no desire to stop, the two of them could stay like this forever–

Before he figured out he needed to _breathe,_ so he broke it, pulled back and gasped for air, wondered how he'd made it so long–

Then Ellis's lips once again found his, and Thomas once again gave in.

* * *

"You're very sweet," Ellis said with a laugh, and he stroked his thumb at Thomas's cheekbone as they parted. They were nearly horizontal, and the thought had his cheeks burning. Ellis sat up and Thomas followed, fixing his rumpled jacket, looking over himself with some bewilderment. "Silly boy."

And why was it that hearing it said back at him didn't make him feel daft at all, when not a bloody minute ago the mere idea had him wanting to disappear into thin air? He didn't feel _daft_ , or embarrassed, or foolish, or shy... He didn't know what he _did_ feel, that was the thing, but…

But Ellis was just beaming at him and rubbing his fingers just above Thomas's ear and now he _did_ feel daft, because something so small as that shouldn't have affected him nearly as much as it was– 

"You're…" Finding the words was more of a struggle than it should have been, but that was what happened after very good kisses, Thomas supposed. He wouldn't know. He hadn't had one in a while.

"I'm?"

He dropped his hand from his face, but only to set it upon his leg, circling his fingers around his kneecap and stroking his thumb at his thigh in a way that made him feel inappropriately warm.

Thomas shut his eyes. 

The touches ceased; he could breathe again.

"You're not _normal_ ," he said.

"Very observant, Mr Barrow," Ellis replied. Thomas could _hear_ him smiling. "I'm surprised it took you so long, actually, I've been wanting to kiss you since we left the post office back at Downton–" 

"No, that's not what I–" 

_Since we left the_

"– you have?"

"I have." Ellis spoke very seriously, as though they were the most important two words he'd ever said and it was his job to say them just right—and if they were, and if it was, he did an admirable job, because Thomas felt very special for hearing them. Which was not especially a feeling he was used to. With it, though, he found the strength to look at him again: his face was set now but the smile was still plain in his eyes, just as it had been in the street, just before _you just need to be a bit more circumspect in future, Mr Barrow,_ just before… well, it had seemed very significant back there, having his lips touched in the middle of the road, but after what had just happened it sort of paled in comparison. "That's being generous, actually, I think I first thought of it when you opened the door on Monday."

"Monday."

"Yeah, Monday."

It had hardly been four days, and now here they were.

"May I do it again?" asked Ellis. "Kiss you, that is."

"Cheeky," Thomas told him, pretending to scold more than anything else, "but yes, you may–"

He hadn't finished the vowel sound before Ellis had his lips on his again, his hand in his hair. It was different but equally thrilling, forceful now, with Ellis wrapping his other arm around his waist and pulling, and he took his lower lip between his teeth and Thomas heard himself moan more than realised he was doing it–

Thomas broke it off this time. 

Mainly because he was not just feeling whatever they had between them in his head anymore.

"What happened on Monday again?" he asked, breathing so heavy it was embarrassing.

A moment passed. 

"I arrived," Ellis told him, "and you were very flustered," still with his arm wrapped around him, still inches away, and though Thomas was slightly nervous that it was going to be noticeable how he was affecting him _very_ soon, he also didn't want him to stop. _I am very flustered right now,_ he would have said, if he didn't have the single shred of remaining sense that he was now clinging to for dear life. "I don't mind telling you I was endeared to that, but then from there you showed me upstairs, and…"

"And?"

* * *

He didn't realise just how desperate he'd been, but even this (Ellis was massaging his head just behind his ear and tonguing at his upper lip in a way that had him shivering, then using his _teeth_ ) wasn't enough, somehow—

Thomas somehow ended up on top, with his legs on either side of Ellis's thighs, knees to his hips, it was awkward but it was _something_ God it was something, and when Thomas pushed his fingers through Ellis's hair and mouthed at his lower lip he sighed, and knowing he'd made him do it was only further encouraging— 

Ellis's other hand found Thomas's hip, and then went under his waistcoat, fingers at the small of his back feeling the clasps of his braces slipping beneath the band of his trousers, and Thomas reached down between them— 

"Wait," Ellis said abruptly, his hand at Thomas's chest, strong, pushing. Keeping him away. It didn't make sense; it didn't feel right. Before him Ellis seemed to have halted, all of him very still, and he wasn't smiling anymore: "wait," he repeated, his voice as firm as his touch now.

"Have I…"

"It's nothing you've done." And he dropped his hand, then—the lack of it felt _significant,_ some kind of weight taken from him, only it wasn't a relief; he felt discomforted, naked. "I'd just like to be sure... do you want this, Thomas?"

He didn't remember telling him his name was Thomas.

Now that he thought about it the last however-long-it-had-been was all very hazy in his head, but there was liquor to blame for that, and the arrest, and kissing as many times as they had done…

Things weren't very hazy now, though.

They weren't hazy at all.

Too clear, if anything. Too sharp, in the same way as having a sore head, when every sight and sound got to be too much and yet you usually still had hours left in the day…

He could even hear his own heartbeat, almost.

And Ellis stared at him ( _Richard Ellis,_ his calling card had said) with wide eyes, the front and sides of his hair loose where Thomas had ruffled it, his tie and collar dishevelled, breathing heavy like each rise and fall of his chest was an effort all on its own.

"Why wouldn't I?" Thomas asked, and he leaned forward again...

If he'd thought him strong before, though, his strength was superhuman now.

Thomas blinked.

"I'm serious," murmured Ellis. Richard.

"So am I."

"I understand you may be feeling out of sorts–"

"I wonder why that may be," Thomas interjected, sarcastic.

It made him laugh, if not for very long.

And still Thomas couldn't shake the feeling that he'd fucked up. 

"Just think it over," Richard told him after a moment. He spoke with gentle authority, and his face reflected nothing.

Thomas figured the same could not be said for him, where faces were concerned.

Richard pushed at his shoulders (in a completely ordinary way this time), and Thomas took the hint, slipping off of him. It was at that point he determined he was wearing neither his coat nor his gloves (the outer ones, thank God) nor his suitjacket, despite not recalling taking any of them off, and he also didn't know where his hat had gone. None of them could be very _far,_ seeing as they were in a vehicle with only so much space to be had, but...

Out of sorts.

Maybe he had a point.

Richard was fully clothed, himself, even if his tie was a disgrace and his jacket was rumpled at the shoulders.

It felt nice, being responsible for that, when all week he'd been so put together (save for that one time that Thomas cringed to think about). 

He tried to remember when they'd...

"You never answered me," said Thomas slowly.

He remembered that bit.

Nothing else, though, really. Just touching and kissing and touching again, even though it couldn't have been more than a quarter of an hour since they'd stopped and they'd _definitely_ spoken about something, even if he couldn't recall what to save his bloody life…

Richard tilted his head at him, but said nothing. Just sat there expectantly with raised eyebrows and nothing at his lips, nothing at his eyes, to give anything else away. 

"You just…" Thomas stopped. "I don't even remember what I asked."

"Well, it wasn't technically a question," Richard said, blithe, almost. "But yeah, I didn't."

"You remember?"

"You're certain you don't?"

"That's what I've just said, yes."

Richard hummed.

Thomas realised very suddenly that it was a daft thing to admit to, on top of everything else. "I don't know what you must think of–" 

"To err is human, Mr Barrow."

"That makes me feel _much_ better, Mr Ellis, thank you–"

"Oh, but it should." 

* * *

The simplest explanation for all of it was that he was going mad, Thomas decided. Maybe he'd imagined the whole thing—the letter from Buckingham Palace, _the king and queen are coming to stay!_ , all the planning and preparations, the demotion, everything to do with Richard Ellis to begin with. Maybe he was, in fact, currently under the care and keeping of Dr Clarkson after a particularly nasty knock on the head, or something, and really only a few minutes had passed at most but on the inside it felt like a fortnight because of reasons he couldn't come up with at the moment.

Or maybe even the last two _years_ , ever since— 

"It's perfectly normal to feel that way," Richard assured him, "I was distraught, actually, when they first told me what was what." 

"Mr Ellis," Thomas said bluntly. "I truly don't think I've understood a word you've just said."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> insert twilight joke here


	6. Thursday (III)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHY DIDNT I TITLE THIS FIC WITH SOMETHING FROM WARM BLOOD LKFASJD;LKFDSFLJSJKHDFKAHLKJRLFADS;LFJDS;LKHDS;HA (it's because freaking me out is like, a hilarious song, lyrically, and this is meant to be a Funny Fic) (but guess what just came on shuffle in the carly rae jepsen playlist!) 
> 
> okay everything else in this universe is getting a warm blood title i s2g

Unfortunately, he had.

Or—he'd thought he had, at least. Maybe he hadn't _actually._ But he'd got the gist of it.

The gist of what he was _saying,_ at least. In terms of what any of it meant, in terms of it having anything to do with anything going on at all — if it had any basis in truth whatsoever, which Richard was acting like but Thomas had more than a few doubts — one of them was fucked in the head and Thomas was having some trouble determining just who.

"This isn't as funny as you think it is," he said, after a very long moment of silence. "Not by half."

"Am I laughing?"

"You're _smiling._ "

And it was, after everything, still a very nice smile.

"Sorry," Richard said, and he stopped, just like that.

With his mouth, but not his eyes.

"You spend three days talking about playing tricks on people and you expect me to believe you now… why, exactly?"

"Well, I got you out of jail, for one."

That was true, at least, unless he'd imagined all that as well.

"And that was how all this started, wasn't it," Richard went on. "Was what had you asking questions."

"Because you..." Hm. "...why should I believe you?"

"I'm afraid I can't give you any more reasons than I have already."

"I don't have _any_ already," Thomas retorted, "nothing's happened that can't easily be explained by…"

"By?"

The bastard was grinning at him again.

It wasn't affecting in quite the same way as it had been, but it was still...

"Well," said Thomas, awkwardly. "Er, I don't think I'd've left the pub if I hadn't been drinking."

He looked away. The nice thing about being awake so late in summertime was the sky, and they had a nice view of it, out here—it was all just farmland.

They were probably still a half hour away from Downton, weren't they?

And he had no other way to get back than this.

What a pleasure.

"You think you're drunk," said Richard. Thomas didn't have to look to know he was raising his eyebrows at him, looking smug.

"I think I'm _something_ ," he said, "or you are."

"You'd be right on the last one."

Thomas frowned.

"You've been drunk before tonight, surely," Richard went on. "Is this a very regular experience for you, when you are? Handsome men telling far-fetched tales?"

"Handsome men tell me plenty of far-fetched tales when I'm drunk, actually, yes," Thomas told him. "Though I don't know that they're ever true."

Richard laughed. "You may get out more than I thought you did." He paused. "You _are_ counting me among the handsome ones, then?"

"I think that bit's been made clear."

"As crystal, Mr Barrow, though I've no objection to hearing you say it."

It was just another in an endless sequence of very bad decisions, kissing him again.

* * *

Richard realised at some point that being stuck out some place off the motorway with a man who was either mad or very, very dedicated to a joke when he couldn't actually drive himself was making Thomas uncomfortable, and so he drove them back, something for which he was very grateful.

He was also grateful for how they seemed to talk about everything other than the main thing on the way.

The other main thing, at least. The one Richard had invented for the fun of it and seemed intent on convincing him of, eventually.

Because they spoke about being homosexual the whole time.

* * *

"Sorry," Richard said. 

Thomas shut the back door behind them and locked it.

They stood about a foot apart to take off their hats, coats, and gloves—it was too close and too far at the same time. 

"What for?"

"I haven't gone about this very well," he answered, almost absentminded. "I've given it all to you backwards."

Thomas didn't entirely know what to say to that.

* * *

"What would prove it to you?"

"Well, proof, I suppose," Thomas said. 

"And your own behaviour isn't proof enough?"

Thomas squinted at him. "As much as it pains me to say this," he said, "I don't use my head as much as I should when _handsome men,_ " it was a running bit now, really, "are around."

Which was why they were having this conversation in his bed, nude and tangled up after the very best sex he had ever had. Richard had made him tell him _yes I would like to do this with you_ far too many times. It was embarrassing now, having begged him to take his clothes off and whatnot, but while it had happened he just felt…

Very lucky.

And very _desiring._ That was the most polite word, really. 

Calling it like it is, it all happened because he'd not had any for months and was… well, he'd been horny.

Mortifying?

Yes.

Abnormal?

For him, no.

Supernatural?

Certainly not.

Did he really think so low of him, after everything they'd shared?

 _Officially it's charisma,_ Richard had said, _that's how they've got it in the Establishment book..._

Anybody could have charisma, though. He was handsome so he had even more of it than he otherwise would. And he was _like him._ And they had some other things in common, too, loads actually, and the more Thomas liked a man the more he seemed to forget himself.

As much as he wished it, that did not take magic powers.

_...In practice I reckon it's more like hypnosis._

Well, there you had it.

"Why don't I believe you?" Thomas asked abruptly. "If you're _hypnotic_?"

Richard grinned. "I was wondering if you'd come round to that."

"Well?"

"Well," he said. "It's very difficult to make people do things they don't want to do."

That made no sense.

Obviously that made no sense. None at all. _Oh, by the way, I can make you do things you weren't planning on doing but only if you want to do them already?_

Did he really think he was so daft as to believe that? It was the perfect set-up, really, no wonder he seemed so proud of himself in telling it. Clever, Thomas had to admit. He would give him some credit for coming up with it.

This was all a sort of test.

Why he cared that much about passing was beyond him—except for the reasons he'd already done his best to establish. _Mr Ellis, you think you're so smart, but you just happened to find the most pathetic homosexual in Yorkshire and none of this comes as any surprise._

"Happens, of course, and you'll recall that's what I'm banking on with that peeler… only it takes a bit of effort on my part, for a start I've got to want it very badly and I don't always put in the rest of all what's required..."

A _bit_ of _effort._

Thomas gave him his best _I know you're joking; you can't fool me_ face. 

It was a bit _much,_ was what it was. He didn't need to rub it in. The arrest and all. It wasn't something somebody _should_ joke about. All those men who'd not done a thing wrong and now were spending the night behind bars. 

"...but you understand, surely, that nobody wants to believe the man in front of him's a dead one."

* * *

There was no convincing him. 

He was in it for as long as he could be, Thomas supposed.

"You said the other day you were in the medical corps."

"And I was, so I think I'd know signs of life when I see them."

"When you see them, that's right," Richard said. "Here, lay down your head–it's not for anything untoward, I can assure you."

As though they hadn't just fucked to within an inch of their lives. If Richard suggested anything else _untoward_ Thomas would probably do it without thinking. Even with all this he was still falling fast. Maybe because it was interesting? It was a sort of dance they had, keeping each other on their feet, trying to catch each other out. And they had talked for a while, hadn't they, and he'd felt known and understood for the first time in he didn't know how long. 

So, even if he liked to play jokes, that wasn't going to change. That he'd been given something he hadn't had in a while or maybe had never had at all before, something he'd been expecting would never be his for the rest of his life. That mattered and it wasn't going to go away.

He did like him very much, after all. 

_Okay._

When Thomas tilted his head at him he only did the same back.

It _was_ tempting...

And then that was that, and Thomas had his head on his chest. Richard took his hand, then his first and second fingers, setting them upon his wrist, and Thomas could hear his heartbeat and feel his pulse at the same time. It didn't prove anything but the opposite of all he was saying was true—he had a _strong_ pulse, and a fast one at that, to the point of excitement, and his chest rose and fell with his breath and though he knew very little about auscultation let alone the immediate kind, Thomas, with his head where it was, could tell the man had–

Well, his lungs weren't as strong as his heart, funnily enough, but they were perfectly ordinary. He took a breath in, he took a breath out, and Thomas realised he was breathing in time, himself…

But none of that did anything to show the man was _dead._

"What am I doing this for?"

"You'll see." 

He could feel Richard's touch at his back—trailing his fingers up and down his waist, skin to skin. Thomas closed his eyes. 

Calm came over him.

Richard didn't seem to have anything else to say, and though Thomas felt as if he _could_ start babbling, with all the thoughts going on in his head, he managed not to. Thankfully.

The rise and fall of his chest became more shallow, his pulse slowed. 

So he was relaxed. Thomas would be, too, if he were in his position. 

Well, either that or the opposite. But Richard had a much better handle on himself than he did; they'd established that many times over.

He thought about all of it—the whole week, from when he'd arrived on Monday and he'd fallen over himself by the time he opened his mouth to being in the car together, talking about their first times and their first heartbreak… There, that was another thing. They weren't all that different, when it came down to it. If he were dead he could have been for ages and then he'd have had to make it all up from scratch.

_Because your generation is the one known for having so many alive men in it?_

"The mind plays tricks on people," Richard said quietly, "it explains away the things they don't want to see."

Some credit was owed to him for commitment to the joke—he took a breath before speaking but not after. Whatever. Perfectly normal. Anybody could hold their breath. 

The second he began to think _for this long though?_ , he was doing it again anyway. Breathing. Because that was probably what he was getting at, having him be like he was. Signs of life, indeed.

"You get somebody in the right frame of mind and it's easy to make him forget, if he doesn't like what he's discovered."

Good joke, ha ha.

"So don't fret, Mr Barrow… if it's too much to bear I can put it out of your mind."

Any second he was going to say _just pulling your leg, figured I'd take it as far as I can first…_

...or his _heart would stop beating_.

Thomas froze.

He started to sit up and then thought better of it, in fact adjusting, keeping his two fingers where they were and trying to get his ear some place better but there was no faking this, Thomas didn't see how he could have tricked him– 

Richard inhaled. "Thomas?"

Soon as he'd spoken his breathing started up again. 

The pulse didn't.

He must have fallen asleep, and then he'd woken him up again somehow and he was still getting his bearings, so he couldn't feel it just yet… that was all. It didn't make sense that somebody would have it sometimes and not others. Even if it was magic, what was the point in it? Seemed like a waste of energy, to him. And it wasn't worth thinking about, neither, because it was all a _joke._

It was getting more and more difficult to convince himself of such things.

"...Thomas?"

But it _couldn't_ be...

He could hardly get the one word out and once he had it was nearly inaudible, just a whisper, like his voice didn't work anymore: "yes?" 

"Don't scream."

* * *

He didn't.

His mind just sort of went blank, instead.

"Fuck me," Thomas breathed, reaching down toward his mouth– 

"Careful," said Richard; he grabbed his wrist and held it fast, and Thomas remembered in the car, when he'd set his hand on his chest and it had felt like there was a boulder there, instead, for the pressure of it, "they're sharp."

They certainly were.

Thomas swallowed. 

"Best you not prick yourself," Richard told him, "that might be a bit much excitement for one night."

There he went again. _A bit much,_ like all of the rest of this wasn't. He was right, though. Thomas didn't know if he could manage… what, him sucking the blood out of his fingers? On top of everything else.

Gently Richard laid down his hand, setting it on his knee; as soon as he had Thomas rubbed at it—it didn't hurt, actually, but he could still feel the ghost of his touch, could still feel tension, like his muscles had all stopped working. 

"...do you do it that way round, too?"

It took him a second to figure out what he was on about. Once he had he laughed, only it sounded choked more than anything else. Tight. "Sometimes," he answered, still staring at his _teeth,_ he couldn't take his eyes off them… "Usually, in fact."

"Just not tonight."

"Well, you asked me very nicely."

God, this was…

"You're _dead,_ " said Thomas, incredulous, "blimey, you're a…"

"It all makes sense now, doesn't it?"

It hadn't before, when it was just talk, but having it right before his eyes…

"...you get to a point where having the explanation's easier than denial."

"Apparently so."

He didn't know if that meant it was his influence, him seeing and comprehending all this so suddenly, but it was right in front of him, wasn't it? The– the inhuman strength, the cat-wide pupils and large irises (that was new, wasn't it? that _had_ to be new, he'd not noticed that before, it was just enough of a difference to be uncanny so surely he'd've been uncomfortable, if he'd seen it already), the way even now he still had Thomas's head spinning for how much he wanted to be near him even as they were only inches apart as it was… The fucking fangs.

Now that he thought about it he was curious, about what it'd be like. Teeth like that served a purpose and the purpose was keeping him… not alive, obviously, but still going, and that was a worthy cause. After everything he deserved for Thomas to take care of his needs, didn't he? It was only– 

"You're not frightened," said Richard. It wasn't really a question but his brow creased, as if he cared whether he was or he wasn't. Well, he'd been saying he liked him, hadn't he? Perhaps he did care. 

Thomas shut his eyes. "I don't know," he told him. He didn't; he felt like the heroine of a gothic novel, or something. Or maybe the mad wife in the attic. He still hadn't ruled out a head injury, had he? That was the only thing left.

When he opened them Richard was still staring up at him all handsome, eyes wide and soothing. Protective. In fact the more Thomas thought about it the more he _did_ know: he wasn't frightened at all. Richard had already shown him he'd keep him safe, hadn't he, more than anybody else ever had, so he owed him. He _owed_ him. He needed a chance to show that he'd make good on it, that Richard could trust him to be there for him, too. And there was only one way to do that.

But part of him still thought that that wasn't right, that he was meant to be terrified, seeing this; only he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that that part was wrong, that what he was _meant_ to do was... 

"I think I've gone mad," Thomas murmured.

"You haven't, I can assure you."

"I…"

"I can go back?"

"How the fuck does that even work?"

Richard grinned up at him; Thomas's heart skipped a beat. Same as the whole week except now he had _fucking_ fangs. He'd let him put that mouth go places he did not want to think about now.

And yet he felt like…

Just like that Richard had a hold on his wrist again. "I don't think you actually want to stick your fingers in my mouth," he said, amused.

Thomas blinked—his hand was about an inch away from his lips. Very close. "But I _do_ –"

_What am I saying_

"Right," said Richard, letting go of him, "sit tight and keep those hands where they are; I'll take care of it."

Even though it was what he wanted (it was _not_ what he wanted, what the fuck, he liked his blood in his body thank you very much), he was apparently unable to refuse him anything, so he did, and Richard laid back down again all the way and shut his eyes.

"Much harder to resist when I'm in full feather, I hear," he said, perfectly still save for the movement of his mouth to talk.

With him lying down like that, not looking at him, it was much easier for Thomas to breathe—his head had gone clear again, sharp. Too much. Was that part of it or was it always like that and he just hadn't noticed for lack of anything to compare it to? 

"But why?" Thomas asked, even though it was probably obvious.

"Well, the gifts've all got uses," Richard said lightly. "I'm a predator, Thomas, the purpose of mine's to draw in prey."

Simultaneously he didn't like the sound of that and also thought that it made sense, and that as a matter of fact, he wanted more than anything to let him have all the blood in his body.

"…I hear it's easier if you're not looking at me," he added. "Close your eyes, if you like…" He did, of course, as soon as he said it. "But yeah, you see me in that state and it gets tough to be your own person, make your own decisions."

"It already was," Thomas said, though he was thinking about _it's very difficult to make people do things they don't want to do…_

It did beg the question: would he have fallen so hard and fast if Richard had been just a regular person? Would he have fallen at all? He suspected he would have done, but it wasn't something he'd ever know the answer to, was it? And clearly he wanted to be with him on some level or it wouldn't be taking all of him over like this.

He'd certainly wanted to bed him. That there was no denying.

"But it got worse, didn't it?"

Well, yes. Or better. 

He said so.

"Let's leave it at worse, for now," Richard said, and then he sat all the way up (without using his hands, without his legs moving at all) and kissed him with a very nice and entirely fangless mouth.

* * *

"Then back with the sergeant…"

Richard had plenty of stories about how it worked—he kept calling it by different names and Thomas couldn't actually keep track—by accident, but very few where he'd done anything to somebody on purpose. 

Something big, at least. He'd made it clear that the reason he was the bloke the resident staff were meant to take questions to was that he could make most of the relevant parties forget they'd ever asked, keep people comfortable and happy and entirely ignorant of the nature of their visitors.

Thomas had _many_ questions, but he supposed maybe he'd get to ask them later.

This one was most important, though. By far.

"It's odd," he said. "I've got to try not to be so heavy-handed, most times, but soon as it matters… and as I said before, it's difficult to get people to do things they don't think are worth doing, or that they don't want to do." He paused. "Well, I could tell he believed in the work he was doing, I'll tell that."

It made Thomas feel as though the room were too small.

"So you showed him your card."

"So I showed him my card, yeah," murmured Richard. "Just in case. And it worked for you, but I dunno if I'll ever find out about the others."

"Are you very worried?" 

"Yeah," he replied, "yeah, I am, actually… you?"

Thomas nodded.

It was the only other thing he'd had the room in his brain to think about. Whether they'd get out. Whether they'd be okay. What the judge would decide.

How many people's lives were gonna be ruined? And he was spared that for no reason but that he just so happened to've been with the right man at the right time before it all happened?

"If it ever happens again I'll be ready," Richard told him, "though I reckon I'll have to come up with a better story—I've heard it comes with time, that what's given to us gets stronger, so they figure– at the Household, the others figure eventually I'll be able to charm my way out of anything, get people to do as I like without lifting a finger." He breathed, again. There was no pattern to it, nothing that to Thomas indicated any kind of science other than the necessity of air for speech. "Only I'm not sure I'd like it to, in my case… it's a bit troubling, isn't it, not knowing if somebody likes you for you or for something you've got over them... I can never tell which it is."

Thomas murmured, "I wouldn't know."

Eyes locked onto his, Richard reached up toward him and set his fingers at his jaw, and Thomas lifted his chin, drawing attention to his neck—did he do that with blokes who weren't vampires or was this a new development? But Richard was only smiling, though maybe more softly. Tender almost. "Well, not in terms of the capability, perhaps, but you've experienced it, surely," he drew his fingertips down to the underside of his chin, and Thomas shivered, "knowing the kindness you're getting's got more to do with something you have than something you are."

"No," Thomas said, "no, I meant– I've never had that problem at all. Figuring out which one." He took a breath. Richard's fingers were still at his throat; as he spoke again they passed over his Adam's apple and then down to between his collarbones and he felt _dizzy_. "I'm not a very likeable person."

If people wanted to get cosy with him it was never because they thought he had a heart of gold and a winning personality, to say the least.

Richard trailed his fingers back up along the side of his neck, set two fingers upon his pulse point, featherlight.

For an instant, Thomas forgot how to breathe. His heart began to race.

And then Richard said, with a broad, reassuring smile, " _I_ like you."

* * *

"So when did you… when did it happen?" 

They were lying side by side, legs tangled up, squished into Thomas's single bed. Close enough it didn't take much to kiss whenever they liked.

They weren't going to get any sleep at all, at this rate.

Which would only be a problem for him.

"When did what happen?"

"Well, you…"

"1918," Richard said. "Was evacuated out of France to London and only lasted a day before it happened."

That… was a huge relief, actually. Thomas breathed a sigh of relief that he had not actually realised he'd needed to—Richard could've been, what, decades older? Centuries? He remembered, actually, when in the car they'd been talking and he'd said things that could've come straight out of Thomas's own childhood, and he'd thought, _no way are you a vampire, no way is this a hundreds-of-years-old tradition in the Royal fucking Household, you may as well be me just more clever and more pleasing and more handsome if-not-by-much._ Because he'd led the same sort of life. Right down to how his mother'd read him the same books when he was small. 

"1883, to answer your next question."

"You're sharp."

Richard grinned.

Even knowing that it wasn't just… him-as-a-person, making him feel as he did when it happened, it was still something that put butterflies in his stomach and made him get all soft and smiley, himself. 

It had been so long since he'd liked somebody, _truly_ liked somebody, let alone had anybody who'd liked him back—who was _like him,_ because that made all the difference—that he didn't remember what it was supposed to feel like that. 

"How?"

"How what?"

He was _probably_ making fun of him, but Thomas was curious.

"How'd you– you made it sound like you– well, you didn't die just to… become one, did you.."

He was rapidly realising he didn't actually have the vocabulary to discuss the finer details of vampirism, and he trailed off and just hoped the point got across somehow.

But Richard raised his eyebrows, his mouth set, and Thomas was suddenly _very_ concerned about having displeased him, because there were only so many things he could do now to placate him, weren't there, and– 

"Rather impolite to ask a man how he died, isn't it?"

"Sorry, you don't have to–"

He laughed, though, and then he pecked him on the lips; Thomas felt his cheeks warm and wondered if the feeling stupid meant he was or wasn't under-a-spell. "Influenza," Richard said. "Made it through most of the war only to die in a pandemic a month before the armistice."

It helped to breathe. He was alive and there was nothing keeping him going other than his own fucking body, so he had to do it at regular intervals, unlike some people. "Pandemics don't come round very often," he said.

Easy to forget, though.

Also Richard just sort of took his breath away, in the full, romance novel sense of the phrase.

"You'd think," Richard said lightly. "But there are a few of us, actually, Lawton had the cholera in '32—in Paris, that's why she's insufferable—and we've got several where it was the Great Plague that did it, in 1665 or thereabouts."

"That's not _often,_ " Thomas said flatly. "For alive people."

"I feel the same, but listening to them talk…" He paused. "I'm the youngest of the entourage."

"I didn't want to ask."

"You could have done," he told him. "I'd not have minded… but yeah, of all of us I'm the youngest, actually, save for a few of our junior footmen, the hallboys..."

"What's that like?"

"None of 'em ever let me forget it."

The things he'd overheard were beginning to make more sense.

"They're alive, mind. The footmen and hallboys—some, at least, and some of our housemaids. We've got to have some humans around or come new moon Westminster'd be a blood bath."

Bloody hell.

It must've been a joke, he was smiling, but– 

"What happens at new moon?"

The smile faltered, but only for a moment. If Thomas had blinked he'd have missed it. Maybe he imagined it as it was. "You don't want to talk about that, do you?" Richard asked, his eyebrows raised, smiling a little. 

"No, sorry, 'course I don't, I don't know why I–"

But he stopped partway through, and it was like something in him got caught on a hook. He felt suddenly very conscious of how Richard was looking at him, where they were touching. That he wanted to be closer even than they already were. That the very last thing he wanted, somehow, was the answer to the question he'd just asked. Only he knew it wasn't true, it was as if it were plastered over what he _did_ feel, and he just couldn't get to it. 

He'd done that. He knew it instinctively and it had him feeling fight-or-flight, only all he could do was stay put; he felt paralyzed.

"That's… don't do that," he said, but his voice sounded wrong; he wet his lips and swallowed and tried again, something unpleasant tangling in his gut, "don't do that."

Richard nodded.

No smile anymore.

He pulled his legs out from between Thomas's and let go of his waist, and Thomas felt _abject terror,_ this was _not_ the same thing as he'd felt before when he worried he'd been a disappointment but he knew it wasn't all his own, either—this was deeper, somehow, he felt sick to his stomach– 

_I am in bed with a vampire,_ everything in him was screaming, _one who's got a hold over my fucking head, and–_

"I shouldn't've tried in the first place," Richard said, like a person might say, _oh, well, what can you do?_

"Have you not been _trying_ already?"

"No, that was a bit much." He rolled over all the way onto his back, and Thomas didn't follow—he kept on his side, looking down at him. His eyes were shut, but it wasn't clear for whose benefit. Maybe both of them. "Sorry."

A bit _much_.

"I feel like I'm gonna be sick." 

"That's what happens," he said slowly. Their legs were still touching (the bed wasn't large enough to truly get away from each other) and Thomas couldn't help but be much too aware of it. "When I try to change somebody's mind, make him do something he doesn't care to– well, more technically, it's what happens when I stop halfway through, give you a chance to realise… doesn't leave you with a very nice feeling."

_No, it doesn't._

Thomas swallowed.

"Ordinarily it comes the morning after, if I carry on," Richard went on. "Takes about that long to realise it wasn't you behind the wheels, so to speak."

What could he possibly say to that?

"–and if you've just woke up it feels about the same as having a thick head, I hear, so it's perfectly easy to explain. It's at its worst when you've actually _done_ something, mind, and you haven't."

Then what the fuck did it feel like when you had?

"God, that's–"

"Fucked up, yeah." He paused. "I've done things I'm not proud of, Mr Barrow, but it's all in the name of King and Country."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?"

"No, it was a joke." He opened his eyes, then, and looked up right into his own. Thomas couldn't break eye contact and couldn't tell if any part of him wanted to, neither. "Thomas, I really don't want to tell you about _what happens at new moon._ "

These things, Thomas reasoned, were probably connected.

And he should probably have been running away and screaming.

And yet.

"Well," he said.

"As a matter of fact I shouldn't've told you about any of this," Richard went on, sounding vaguely annoyed, and Thomas hoped that that was at himself and not at Thomas, because he didn't think he'd done anything. "I'm meant to keep it under my hat—as are all of us, mind, not just me." 

"What are you going to do about that, then?"

"Nothing, I imagine."

He grinned; Thomas forgot how to breath; it was probably going to happen tens of more times before he left in the morning.

"But you're not going to tell me about…"

"No."

If he knew anything after all that had happened so far it was that there was no use arguing about it because he wasn't gonna find out and that was that.

The problem was that he had no idea why he wasn't scared shitless. 

" _Well,_ " Thomas said again. 

Out of a lack of knowing what to do with himself he flopped back down, head on Richard's chest just like they'd been before… and not long after Richard wrapped his arm around him, setting his hand at his hip and caressing. His fingers didn't even stumble as they passed over and around his scar. "Can I ask another question?"

"As long as you remember mum's the word after I answer, yeah."

His heart was beating, now. Like normal. He was curious about how that worked, but it wasn't nearly as pressing as the other thoughts on his mind, like...

"How many of you are dead?"

"Of the Crown servants?"

Thomas nodded. "I mean, is it the whole Household, or–" 

"Nah," Richard said. "None of the kitchen staff, for obvious reasons–"

"Mr Ellis, none of the reasons for anything you've told me tonight have been obvious."

Which made him laugh, because of course it did. "We don't eat, Thomas," he said, a smile in his voice; it was at the point Thomas almost worried he was laughing _at_ him for asking what he thought was a stupid question when in _fact:_

"I've _seen_ you eat."

"Right—we're capable of it, but it's not _pleasant._ " Huh. "Ordinarily we don't have to dine with the resident staff, so there's no problem… being here at the Abbey's been tricky."

"How's it unpleasant?"

"Well, we're not getting anything out of it, for one," Richard told him, "it's not sustaining, doesn't give us any energy—and the taste's unappealing, generally. And then you've got to take care of digestion, which is frustrating if you've not done it in years–"

" _What?_ "

Richard patted at his hip. "Lower your voice, love, the walls up here are thinner than you think."

There were so many parts of what he'd just said to think about that Thomas decided not to think about any of them at all, and also that he was going to be quiet as a mouse for the rest of the night, that he'd hardly make any noise, to show him he was…

"...but yeah," continued Richard, with a chuckle, and he went back to rubbing at his leg and hip and waist, and Thomas relaxed. "We've got a lot more awareness over our bodies than you have, more control… things you never have to think about, things that happen all the time without your trying—beating hearts and the like."

Bloody mad.

"Think about that, Thomas, do you ever notice your heart beating if it's not gone out of the ordinary? Sped up, and such?"

"Not especially," said Thomas slowly.

"Yeah. Not so, for us. 'Course, you get to the point where you can have it all going in the background, not let it get in the way of things, but some stuff you just avoid altogether, if it's unpleasant."

"That doesn't make any sense."

"According to whom?"

Thomas did not have an answer to that question.

"It makes sense if you've got all the pertinent information, which you haven't."

"That's fair, I suppose."

He didn't exactly want to know the finer bodily details here.

"But, to answer your question," Richard said, and Thomas thought, _thank you,_ "just about half of the house servants. That's at Buckingham Palace, mind you, Balmoral's only us and Sandringham's more like three quarters, Windsor it changes, they've got some turnover."

"Half," Thomas repeated.

"Yeah. Or a little more, these days—they bring new blood in once in a while—sorry, that's in bad taste—but never let the old hands go if they'd like to stay on, so it's fewer and fewer each time… I got in twenty years ago, and you sign for a fixed term, see, so long as you're not dismissed, life and then a set amount of years… I've got about 91 left."

Almost a century.

Thomas couldn't fathom what the world might be like in five years, let alone ninety. It'd already changed so much in his lifetime—and that was _short,_ in Richard's eyes, he was pretty sure. 

"That's only the mix for the residences, though, all of us who travel've been turned. Reduces liability."

It was a great shock at the same time as it wasn't: on the one hand, everything made sense now. On the other… 

"You mean, everybody on the Yorkshire tour…"

"Yeah."

"Except the kitchen staff?"

"Yeah, exactly."

"Bloody hell."

"I'm sure everyone will agree that Downton was the worst stopping place this summer," Richard said wryly. "You're having us do things some of us've not had to in decades."

"You mean eating?"

"That and giving human beings the time of day—I'm meant to keep you all at ease, but I'm afraid I've been rather distracted, let some things slip my mind." 

_Distracted by_ me _, he means,_ Thomas thought. _Distracted by me._

"By keep us at ease…"

"Well, you remember, surely," he said. "Find out what's troubling you, if anything, and then smooth it over, make sure nobody asks questions and take care of 'em if they do… It's not too much of a job, usually, so long as I pay attention, but I've not been."

"And that's my fault?"

 _Why the_ fuck _would you actually ask him that?_

"Absolutely it is, Mr Barrow," Richard said, and then he pressed a kiss to the top of his head and Thomas felt as if he could probably stand up and start flying right then and there. 

"How come it's up to you?" he asked.

"I'm the one with the charm."

"You're not all–?"

"God, no– I mean, my colleagues've got insufferable personalities to begin with, so it'd not work regardless, but none of 'em are gifted with charisma save me. I'm actually not that impressive, compared to most."

Gift this, capabilities that. Thomas found he didn't actually want to know who those things actually came from, if there was a person behind it.

" _I_ find you impressive."

Richard did not acknowledge this save for slipping his hand over his hip, between their two bodies, and his fingers skirted up and down the side of his belly—if he was just intending to once again get him turned on in inappropriate circumstances he was going to succeed, and it was going to be very embarrassing. (As though all the rest of what he'd done wasn't.) "I wonder sometimes how it would work, if they found somebody else to do my job… feels as if I'm the only one who gives a damn about anybody outside the Household, to be honest, so some of my being good at it's a natural step… but then who knows? Maybe in fifty years…"

Fifty years. Thomas himself probably wouldn't even be alive by then.

But after everything he'd said, Richard certainly seemed intent on sticking around for at least that long, to see what would come about. He had the option to, after all.

How strange it must be, to go through life with no end in sight. No way out. Ninety-one years left in the Royal household and then what? No wonder people stayed on.

"...I'm sure it's different, if the only people you've got left on earth are all working right alongside you."

And there was that.

Not that Thomas had anybody he'd be especially sorry about leaving behind. Everybody he did care for cared for somebody else more, he figured.

"You went to see your parents," Thomas said slowly. "Are they…?"

"Mum's alive," Richard said. "Dad died in the war."

The usual way, Thomas assumed.

"I'm sorry."

There was a pause, longer than he'd ever hesitated before, like this time it wasn't for an effect or anything but because he actually didn't know what to say.

But in the end it was just, "thanks," and a sigh. "Dunno how much longer she'll be with me, but I see her whenever I get the chance."

"Do you get on, then?"

"Yeah, and she's aware of it, actually, so she's had time to come terms with just how long I'll outlive her–"

"No, I meant– does she know you're–?"

Richard stilled. Thomas pressed himself up again, to look at him, and his eyes were already open and he even had one of those half-smiles of his on his face, content as anything. "Yeah," he said. "Yeah, she does. And so did Dad."

"And you still…"

"Yeah, I– I'm lucky. I love them a lot."

Stupid how _that_ was the thing that had him the most mindboggled of all of this, he felt an unpleasant curl in his chest, seeing him think about this _basic_ thing that _everybody had,_ that most everyone had in one way or another, was some place they came from and still cared about–

Richard tugged him back down just before he started to make a fool of himself, this time wrapping both arms around him, holding him close: his strength wasn't overwhelming and overpowering, it was only a little more than a usual man would have and it was more soothing than anything else would be, having that pressure against him. It was new. He liked it. "I didn't mean to upset you," Richard murmured.

"You didn't."

"I did." Another kiss to his head, same as before. "But then it's hard to straddle the line between keeping somebody happy and giving him the right to be his own man, sometimes, and after what I'd done before…"

"I didn't like that."

"I know, love," Richard said. "I'm sorry."

That was the second time. Thomas was probably going to swoon if it happened a third.

"Well, I'll give you my word it won't happen again," Richard said, "and you can rely upon that, Thomas, I promise."

"You're still not going to tell me though, are you?"

"No," Richard told him, with a laugh that was as much unnerving as it was charming. "Not tonight."

And _that_ Thomas liked hearing. It had nothing to do with his wanting to know eventually what was what and when, where vampirism and moon phases were concerned, although it was true he did and probably should, especially what with his continually bad sense of self-preservation where Richard Ellis was concerned, and everything to do with how…

 _Not tonight_ meant maybe there could be another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> weighted blanket vs vampire boyfriend, pros & cons, go!

**Author's Note:**

> this was going to have one more chapter but you know what? nah, we good! we'll leave it off here! expect more at some point i'd be lying if i said there wasn't sexy blood drinking vampire erotica in the works here
> 
> thank you for reading!!!
> 
> [find me on tumblr as @combeferre](https://combeferre.tumblr.com) !


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